


Journey of the Featherless: Marginalia

by theherocomplex



Series: Journey of the Featherless [3]
Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-10-23 15:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10722540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/pseuds/theherocomplex
Summary: Ficlets and drabbles, mainly featuring Gemma Ryder and Jaal Ama Darav.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a Tumblr prompt: "lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up".

 

Gemma can't help being a morning person. She always, _always_ woke up long before dawn on Christmas (hence her parents' desperate attempts to distract her by putting her stocking at the foot of her bed before they went to sleep) and Easter (hence the origin of the Easter stocking), but that was expected kid stuff. When Gemma opens her eyes on a new morning, she's _happy_ about it. 

Why shouldn't she be? She's still breathing, her heart's still beating, the Initiative is starting to think past survival, and she's surrounded by people she trusts. Things could be — have been — a lot worse. As long as she doesn't think too hard about the sore spot in her chest, she can get through the day with a smile on her face. 

She'll think about it when Scott wakes up, and they can grieve together. 

Till then, she's got plenty to keep her busy: Sloane's backed into a corner and she knows it, so the outpost — and the end of all Sloane's shitty little "side ventures" — is just days away; Spender's about to get a krogan boot up his ass; and Havarl isn't trying to eat its inhabitants. Not any more than usual. 

All good things. But the best thing, the real reason why Gemma wakes up with a dopey grin plastered across her face nine mornings out of ten, is that she wakes up with Jaal draped all over her, radiating sleepy heat and love in equal measure. 

No matter what the day brings, those first few minutes are pretty perfect. 

Too bad they never stay that way. 

It came as a bit of a shock when she realized, in spite of all the actual, concrete differences between their species, the only thing about her Jaal didn't love was that she actually _enjoyed_ being awake before lunch. 

She's learned to move slowly and quietly, and to take her morning yoga down to the cargo bay, so Jaal can snatch a few extra minutes of sleep and be somewhat coherent when she pads back in, loose and limber and offensively — so he says — ready for the day. He clings to her as she slips out of bed, murmuring in a language older than anything SAM has managed to translate, but as soon as she gets out from under the covers, he immediately rolls over into the warm spot she left behind. 

_Opportunist_ , Gemma thinks in his direction as she slips into her workout clothes. He doesn't stir as she heads for the cargo bay, and she'd bet her non-existent next paycheck he'll be in the same position when she gets back. 

Only Gil is present when she walks in, though he's not so much an early-riser than he is a never-sleeper. He toasts her with his coffee mug as she spreads her mat on the floor, then goes back to his calculations while she takes the first in a long series of deep breaths. 

She takes it easy; for the past two weeks she's spent more time in her armor than out of it, and her left knee tends to lock up whenever that happens. It's just her this morning, so she holds each pose a little longer than usual, just to savor the way her muscles feel as the knots start to dissolve. 

An hour's gone by when she glances at her omnitool — there are fourteen new emails in her inbox, but since half of them are from Tann and none of them are from Harry, they can wait — so she tucks away her mat, waves to Gil, and heads for the showers. 

When there's time, and not so much of a focus on _oh god I hope we don't die_ , she's going to talk to Kallo and Gil about rigging a bathroom in one of the _many_ corners in her cabin. Granted, the _Tempest_ 's designers didn't anticipate four extra crewmembers, but two shower stalls and a single toilet are a recipe for a disaster. Especially after the away team comes back after a three-day party on Elaaden. 

_Cora still says her suit stinks_. Gemma programs in Kallo's hack and sighs as the first needle-burst of hot water drenches her hair. She still sticks to four minutes — dig discipline might be a joke compared to military discipline, but the one thing you don't mess with are people's showers — then drops her workout clothes into the laundry chute and heads back to her cabin, clad only in a towel. 

If she's going to betray Jaal by waking him up, she can make up for it in other ways. 

True to form, he hasn't moved an inch since she left. He groans when she trails her fingers along his bare arm, and rolls away to bury his face in the pillow. 

"No," he says. "Too early, Gemma." 

"I've been up for an hour." She swings her legs onto the bed and curls against him, her chest to his back. "Time to face the day."

Jaal groans again, but presses back against her. "A terrible phrase," he says. " _Face the day_. As if it were a challenge, or something to dread. I —" 

Gemma draws the tip of one finger down the line of his spine, feather-light, and Jaal goes very quiet. 

She's used to the cognitive realignment that comes with dating an alien. You can't rely on your own body as a reference for what will arouse them; you have to watch, and listen — and Gemma's very, very good at that. 

"Want to go back to sleep?" she asks, grinning as she keeps stroking the sensitive line of his back. There's a spot, just a little lower than she's ready to go, that always makes Jaal shudder and gasp, and she can tell by the way he arches into her touch that he's thinking about that spot too. "I could go answer emails till you're ready —" 

For as much as Jaal hates mornings — and he does, with the kind of hate Gemma reserves for crunchy peanut butter — he moves fast enough, once he's got some incentive. The rest of Gemma's sentence is cut off as Jaal rolls over, winding the sheets over both of them as he goes, and kisses her without once opening his eyes. 

Sure, the kiss is a little off-center, but that's easy enough to fix. Gemma closes her eyes and links her hands behind his head while the kiss deepens. Jaal always kisses her like it's the first time, or the last. At first it freaked her out, being at the center of that much attention, that much affection, but now she floats, buoyed up by his warmth. 

He pulls her towel away one-handed. As always, the sensation of his bare skin against hers makes her gasp, then the weight of his hand in the small of her back makes her sigh. There's no urgency in the way he touches her, no demand that they move things along, and a brief, vivid image fills Gemma's head: another bed, in a room where all the windows are open, the two of them tangled in the sheets while a soft breeze carries in the smell of the garden. 

Home. 

With anyone else, Gemma would have pushed the thought away, and not gotten ahead of herself. But there's always been a certainty between them, hasn't there? Jaal said it best, in the water on Aya: _wherever you go, take me with you._

There's still so much work to do, so much to save and plan for, but maybe — maybe that thought isn't quite so far off. Just thinking of that morning — when neither of them has to get up at all if they don't want to, and they can relearn each other as a garden grows outside — unknots the rest of the tension in her back. A small house, with room for their friends, and family, and the garden. 

_Someday_ , she thinks, a silent promise, as Jaal finally breaks the kiss and opens his eyes. 

Scott would cheerfully tell her she's watched too many romance vids, and she would cheerfully give him the finger, because whether he's right or not, she's still found her exact dream, in the most unexpected place of all. 

"Does this mean you're awake?" She strokes his arm, kneading her thumb into the muscle where he always gets knotted up. "Or is this a tactic to distract me?" 

"Yes," says Jaal, smirking when she rolls her eyes. "And no. Unless you want to be distracted." 

_Always_. She ducks her head to kiss the base of his throat. His skin is warm, and still scented slightly by the salve he used before bed, and she decides to linger, even knowing it's more enjoyable for her than for him. Still, Jaal lets out a pleased sigh as she makes her way up his neck, slowly and carefully, and she grins as she kisses his lips. A little more positive reinforcement, and he'll shiver every time she does this, just like she'll moan whenever he kisses down her back. 

No reason to neglect the places that will make him shiver right now, though. Gemma lifts his hand by the wrist, and without breaking eye contact, presses her mouth to the pulse beating fast and strong just under the skin. Jaal breathes her name, and gasps when she lets her tongue flicker out, just once, to taste him. 

The bed is warm, the lights low, and Jaal is watching her with wide, delighted eyes. Gemma reminds herself that no matter what her body is telling her, there's no reason to rush, and that maybe Jaal has the right idea about slow, lazy mornings. 

She can at least give him the benefit of the doubt. 

So she pushes him on his back, and straddles his hips. His body strains toward hers as she leans down to kiss him, her hands cradling his face. 

Somewhere else, stars are born, and die; black holes devour light and history. On thousands of other worlds, people look toward the sky and wonder what lies beyond. But for Gemma, the universe has shrunk to her bed, and Jaal, and the dream of a quiet morning. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a kiss prompt on Tumblr: "starting with a kiss meant to be gentle, ending up in passion". 
> 
> ([recommended listening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hD6_QXwKesU))

Jaal knows the _Tempest_ ’s rhythms by heart, but sometimes, a voice deep in his mind will whisper _this ship is not your home_ , and he’ll open his eyes without recognizing the shape of the room around him.

It happens rarely now — weeks have gone by since he last felt his heart freeze when he didn’t hear the other members of the resistance breathing quietly in their bunks — but the voice isn’t gone, and perhaps it never will be, no matter how much time goes by.

Nearly a year has passed, in the way the aliens reckon time, since Jaal arrived on the _Tempest_. In that time, he has killed more kett than he thought possible, watched Akksul’s mad dream fall apart like old cloth, and freed Havarl from the fevered growth that had been slowly killing it, all the years of his life.

Quite the list of accomplishments, even before he thinks of Voeld, or freeing the arks, or bring the Moshae home. He has gone far from home, in the company of strangers who are now dear to him as family, and he has seen, with his own eyes, the Archon’s dead and blackened heart.

 _And somehow_ , he thinks, _I managed to find the time to fall in love_.

Beside him, Gemma stirs, as if half-woken by his thinking of her. Jaal exhales slowly, the last dissonance between memory and reality fading away, and turns on his side to watch her.

Asleep, with no armor or purpose to shield her, she looks older, an essential brightness dimmed. There are fine lines at her eyes and mouth, barely visible in the dark room, that she didn’t have when he first saw her, and a strand or two of grey darting through her thick hair.

This is how humans age; time ravages them out in the open. Gemma may be younger than him by several years, but no one could tell by looking at them.  
Jaal reaches out to touch her cheek, but stops himself the moment before his fingers brush her skin. He’s used to sleeping lightly — though he treasures every moment — but Gemma most certainly is not.

 _Don’t worry about waking me,_ she told him on the first night they shared her bed. _I sleep like the dead._

A chill passes over him, cold fingers pressed against his wrists and neck. He’s seen her sleeping, and he’s seen her dead. There is no way he would mistake one for the other. Bright she may not be in this moment, but she will be when she wakes.

There was no brightness on the Archon’s ship, in the moments between her fall and her first choking breath. Cora hung in the air beside him, with a face that could split stone — and what had she said? _Not again_.

Jaal wonders, while the chill fades and Gemma’s breath warms his hand, if Cora would have survived the loss of another Pathfinder. She is strong the way iron is strong — but grief is like rust, and she might have crumbled if she lost what little sense of home she’d found on the _Tempest._

 _A lucky thing that none of us had to find out what would happen_.

Besides, the Archon would have ensured neither he nor Cora would have borne their grief long.

But Gemma rose — eyes wild, lips and cheeks pale, a blurred copy of the woman he already loved, but she _rose_ , and they carved their way out of the Archon’s ship.

Even knowing that, even with the living woman asleep inches away, Jaal still hears the sound her body made when it hit the ground. He’ll hear it for the rest of his life, and all the other lives that follow.

Gemma sleeps on, unaware of the dark turn his thoughts have taken. She shifts again, and the sheet falls away to pool between them. His breath catches as one small breast is exposed — these past few months have taught him the joys of her strange body, even if the angara have no words for half of what he sees — and the dark crown of her nipple hardens in the cool air.

For every grief in his memory, a balancing joy exists; for every fatal drop, the sunlit canopies of Aya, and Gemma’s laughter as he spun her in the water. But now — there is only desire, and love.

Jaal cups her cheek, traces her mouth with his thumb. Her eyes open as he bends to kiss her, a flash of jeweled green before his own eyes close and all he knows is the warmth of her mouth.

She makes a sleepy, surprised noise, then her arms slip behind his head. A simple gesture, one she’s done a hundred times before, but now it fills him with a thin, sweet ache. Perhaps one day he’ll touch her without marveling over the journey and near-misses that brought them here, but he’ll mourn that day when it comes. The universe is a cold, indifferent place, but he found her, and she him, the other halves of each other’s hearts.

He’ll tell her that, just to see her smile.

The kiss ends as gently as it began, and Gemma’s already smiling when he leans back.

“Please tell me this is how I’m going to wake up from now on,” she says.

Jaal’s thumb fits perfectly under the swell of her lower lip. “You usually wake up first,” he reminds her, which gets an eyeroll and an exasperated huff. “Though I could be convinced.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Gemma lifts her head to kiss him, the fine loose strands of her hair falling over his fingers. It’s a gentle kiss, just like the one before, but he feels her bare skin against his chest, and knows the lean muscles in her legs are separated only by the sheet — and despite the absence of heat, something in him ignites.

Gemma makes another startled noise when he presses into the kiss, but her mouth opens, just as greedy as his own, and what began so slowly ends with them clinging to each other, a knot of heat and need.

When they part, Jaal sees his surprise mirrored in her eyes. He wants her, in the same way trees must thirst for water, but what stirs him now is not just desire and love — it’s gratitude, that she’s still with him, that she’s never left, that she arrived at all.

“Jaal,” she whispers, her voice falling light and sweet through the air. Her hands shake where they’re pressed against his back. Then she kisses him again, and he thinks no more of grief or joy — just this unlikely completion, here in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gemma Ryder and Jaal have their first fight, and Cora does _not_ want to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a Tumblr prompt: "kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing".

Ryder's ongoing quest to climb every mountain on every planet _vertically_ had finally broken the Nomad in ways even the combined efforts of Gil, Jaal, and Vetra couldn't repair.

"Are you still on _fire_?" Cora asked, both horrified and impressed. "My God. You're still on fire." 

Ryder, halfway out of her armor, and looking as close to murderous as Cora had ever seen her, crouched down to peer at the Nomad's undercarriage. "Shit, we are. Liam — we're in crisis, respond!" 

"On it, boss!" A fire extinguisher arced through the air, barely missing Gil's head, and landed in Ryder's hand with a solid _thwack._ Five seconds later, the fire was out, but the cargo bay was covered in foam, and the Nomad wheezed and groaned as its axles cooled. 

"Shit," Ryder said again, scrubbing at her hair. "Good eye, Cora, thanks." 

"I take it your field trip with Reyes went well?" Cora asked. 

Ryder bared her teeth — Cora thought of a mongoose, and took a step back — but before she could change the subject or Ryder could start swearing, Jaal spoke up from the other side of the Nomad.

"Kadara is a cesspool on the best of days," he said, his mouth curled in a sneer as he wiped a few droplets of foam off his eyepiece. He muttered something under his breath, and Ryder's shoulders went iron-hard. "And today," he added, once all the foam was gone, "was not its best day." 

Ryder glared at Jaal — _the planetkiller stare,_ her father had called it; Cora heard his voice, felt the accompanying pang of loss and nostalgia — and the cargo bay went silent. The lovebirds hadn't so much as exchanged tense words since they paired off months ago, but watching Ryder, whose teeth were still very much bared, and whose Sidewinder was still very much in reach, Cora readied a barrier. For Jaal's sake, not her own. 

No harm in being prepared, lots of harm in letting the Pathfinder spatter her angaran boyfriend across the _Tempest_ 's cargo bay. 

Five seconds of absolute silence passed, then Ryder gave herself a shake and exhaled hard through her mouth. "It sure as hell wasn't," she said, tight and furious, then turned on her heel and stalked away, without a backwards look. 

Cora chanced a look in Jaal's direction — hell, just like everyone else in the cargo bay — and found him watching Ryder's departure with a mix of dismay and annoyance. Dismay ended up winning by the time the door hissed closed behind Ryder. 

_Sure glad I wasn't tapped for this run_ , Cora thought, then felt a surge of guilt as Jaal made his way — deliberately calm — toward the makeshift showers in the back of the bay. 

Another ten seconds of silence went by before Drack's head popped out of the Nomad. 

"Next time," he said to the room at large, "someone else can go to Kadara. I'm done." 

 

*** 

 

Between Jaal's first and second emotional openness seminars, someone — Cora's money was on Liam — had taken the guy aside and explained that sometimes it was totally okay, even _preferred_ , to let humans stew for a while before trying to work things out. And Jaal, being pretty quick on the uptake, had taken that advice very much to heart — not that Jaal had any other setting, Cora mused — and let Ryder stew, and stew, and stew, all the way back to the Nexus, where the Nomad could get some TLC and the crew could stock up on rations that were older than everyone except Drack. 

Ryder spent most of the trip in her quarters, and for the first time, Cora realized just how much of the crew's strange cohesion came from the Pathfinder's relentless, dogged optimism. Everyone stayed as efficient as ever, but without Ryder breezing through the ship, no one seemed inclined to talk, or joke, or even give each other shit. 

"I hate this," Peebee said, two hours out from the Nexus. "They need to get over it. Jaal had the right idea. Kadara sucks, even that time Drack drank the water." 

Lexi's eyes flew wide, and Cora leapt in before the good doctor could turn herself inside-out over that one. "I'm pretty sure it's more than Jaal's feelings about Kadara getting on Ryder's last nerve," she said, as diplomatically as she could. Privately, she mostly agreed with Peebee, but a part of her kept whispering that Ryder had held herself together through her father's death, two of her own deaths, and facing the kett time and again. This wasn't just being pissed off with Jaal; this was everything on Ryder's back coming out at once. 

She wanted to say so, but Peebee had already checked out of the conversation and was talking to Lexi about the new upgrades to Poc, and Cora didn't want to ruin the moment. She finished her breakfast in silence, and headed back to her plants. As de facto XO, maybe she should have stepped in, and nudged them toward a reconciliation, but that advice about stewing went for her, too. 

If Ryder and Jaal weren't back to their usual adoring selves by the time the Nomad was repaired, she'd say something. But not before. 

 

*** 

 

Halfway through their first day docked at the Nexus, a swell of whoops and laughter interrupted her reading. She shoved her datapad away and followed the sound down to the cargo bay. 

Gil and Peebee turned around as she walked in, each offering her a quick nod before going back to cheering on Liam and Ryder, who were both balancing on gymnastics rings, five feet above the floor. 

_Oh, good,_ Cora thought. _We're back to_ Tempest _Olympics._ She'd been roped into enough of Ryder's challenges for a lifetime, but Liam could always be relied on to take one of Ryder's dares, whether it was _do you think I can throw you over that ravine with my biotics_ or _how many cartwheels can we do in full armor?_

At least this particular challenge wouldn't leave Lexi crying in her sleep. The good doctor was cheering next to Drack, though Cora wasn't exactly sure for whom. 

"How long have they been at it?" she asked, taking up a spot on Peebee's other side. 

"About fifteen minutes," Gil replied, Peebee being too busy throwing half a cookie at Liam's head. "Nowhere near the record, but we're allowed to distract them this time." 

"Bullseye!" Peebee yelled, nearly deafening them both, as the cookie bounced off Liam's forehead. He wobbled, cursing under his breath, but regained his balance a second later. 

Cora grinned, relief rising through her chest. If Ryder was cheerful enough to start demanding athletic competitions, the worst was behind them, without her having to lift a finger. A reconciliation with Jaal couldn't be far behind — except for the fact that Jaal was nowhere to be seen. 

A little of her relief faded away, but then Vetra flicked a bottle cap at Ryder, and she nearly lost her grip as she tried to shift away. 

"Oh, you're going down!" Liam said, grinning as a fine sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. 

"No way, Kosta." Ryder pulled herself upright, and gave him a wicked grin. "I'm in the zone. Can't knock me out, can't bring me down, can't —" 

"Hey, Jaal!" Liam yelled toward the far corner of the cargo bay. "Give a friend a hand, yeah? Distract your girl!" 

Ryder's head twitched toward Jaal as he walked into view, but she clearly didn't make eye contact. "Pretty low, Liam," she said. "Must be getting desperate. No wonder I'm winning." 

" _Desperate_ your word for _creative_ , huh?" Liam jerked his chin at Jaal, who hovered at the edge of the bay, just in Cora's line of sight. "C'mon, I know you've got moves." 

Cora watched Jaal's emotions cross his face: reluctance, amusement, and the strange blend of wistfulness and intensity that had marked how he looked at Ryder, almost from the beginning. 

_I don't know if I should roll my eyes or applaud,_ she thought, as Jaal made his way toward Ryder. _It's like something out of Ryder's vids._

Why she'd expected anything less, she'd never know. 

"Hoo boy," whispered Vetra, and leaned back with her arms folded. Drack groaned, despite Lexi nudging him. And Ryder watched Jaal, her grip on the rings not faltering, her legs pointed straight and true at the ground. 

Jaal wrapped his hand around her bare ankle. He didn't squeeze, or stroke, just held on as he looked up at Ryder's face. 

"Come on," Liam hissed, smirking. "You've got this." 

Ryder tossed her hair out of her eyes, the first trace of a smile curving her lips. 

Jaal's hand tightened on Ryder's ankle. He lifted her leg — slowly, and Ryder's smile widened — and kissed the inside of her calf. 

_Good lord,_ Cora thought, shaking her head. 

"Ah!" Ryder dropped, laughing, into Jaal's waiting arms. Cora saw his answering smile as he turned, not letting Ryder go. 

Liam whooped and let go of the rings, darting forward to slap Jaal and Ryder on the shoulder. "And the champion is…the Kosta!"

Oh, Liam might have been the champion, but Ryder certainly didn't look like a woman who had lost anything as Jaal lowered her gently to the floor. She kept smiling as she said something to Jaal, too quietly for anyone to hear over Liam's crowing, and then they both laughed. 

"Quite a show," Gil said, pushing away from the railing. "Guess the kids are back to normal now." 

Cora hummed in agreement as she watched Ryder and Jaal slip toward the exit, hand in hand. "Guess so."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaal’s been building bridges since the Initiative arrived in Andromeda, but this one may be the most vital. 
> 
> (Jaal and Scott friendship, background Jaal/Gemma; spoilers for Elaaden and the Family Secrets questline.)

Jaal is ten steps ahead before he realizes that Gemma has stopped walking.

“— then Sahuna said ‘That’s not actually edible,’ and Lathoul — Gemma?” He finds her staring up at Operations, wearing an expression far more suited to facing down three fiends at once than walking through the Nexus. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” she says, though every inch of her body clearly says _nothing is all right, and nothing will be all right ever again._ “Just…not looking forward to Tann’s reaction to the whole Remnant drive core thing.”

Jaal squeezes her shoulders, and tries to offer a reassuring smile. He knows, too well, the particular kind of exhaustion Gemma carries out of these meetings — he’d carry some if he could, but Tann would eject him from the office the moment he walked in.

Politely, of course, because Tann is a politician above all else and the weight of his family name has reached the Nexus — but still ejected.

“You didn’t seem worried on the _Tempest_ ,” he says, as a prelude toward comforting her, but Gemma snorts and gives his hands a squeeze.

“Probably because _someone_ kept me preoccupied most of the trip from Elaaden. Thank you for that, by the way.” The quick flare of cheer disappears from her face a breath later. “He probably already knows,” Gemma says, scrubbing a hand through her hair. “Morda’s the gloating sort. Anyways!” She hauls a bright, brittle smile on her face, then stands on tiptoes to kiss him. Jaal feels the weight of all the not-stares from the people passing by, but Gemma, if she notices, doesn’t pay any attention, and so neither does he. “I’ll be out in an hour or so — whenever he and Addison run out of creative ways to question my judgment.”

“I’ll be in the Cultural Center when you’re done, darling,” he tells her, and punctuates his sentence with a kiss to her forehead.

Gemma’s smile, when she steps away, is softer at the edges. “I figured,” she says. “See you soon.”

He lifts his hand as she turns toward Tann’s office, her shoulders squared and glossy head held high.

Jaal sighs. The Nexus is warm, the air almost fresh enough to fool him, and no one gives him a second glance without Gemma at his side, but he has no reason to linger. The Cultural Center will keep him entertained, even if the staff haven’t uploaded any new information. And perhaps he’ll run into Liam or Vetra along the way, and be able to pass the time with a friend.

A few angara call his name as he enters the docks, but he waves without stopping. His thoughts remain with Gemma, who is probably resisting an eyeroll with every bit of self-control at her command, and with how he can make up a miserable hour with several pleasant ones.

 _Or pleasurable_ , he thinks, smirking a little to himself. Gemma had been _very_ preoccupied for the last twenty-four hours.

Out on its dock, the _Tempest_ gleams in the artificial sun. Jaal feels something settle in his chest, a deep, abiding satisfaction. Aya will always be the jewel of his life, and Havarl will always mean _family_ , but the _Tempest_ is something at the core of both: an unexpected home.

He’s not the only person admiring the ship. A tall, slim human leans on the barrier a few feet away, with a datapad dangling forgotten from one hand and his head tilted to one side. Jaal nods in his direction, then startles; with the light in his eyes, he almost didn’t recognize Scott Ryder.

“Ah, Scott!” he says, striding forward, a little ashamed of the near-miss. He’d hate himself if he slighted any of Gemma’s family, accidentally or otherwise, and his mouth is sour even as he smiles. “How are you?”

Scott straightens slowly and faces him, his expression unchanged. Jaal catches himself before he can reach out and embrace him — Scott eludes him, in ways Gemma never does; a chilly distance clings to him, keeps him intangible, where Gemma is warmth, and light, and steady ground.

 _Twins_ , the humans call them. They look nothing alike, and if Gemma hadn’t pointed him out in the medbay, Jaal would never have guessed they belonged in the same family. Scott never smiles, and Gemma rarely does anything else.

“Jaal,” he says, his voice smooth and pleasant. He holds out his hand, and Jaal shakes — this much he learned a long time ago, thanks to Liam’s diplomacy lessons, and he’s confident his grip is neither too hard nor too light. “Good to see you.” He doesn’t smile, and his eyes flick down to his datapad almost immediately. Jaal will just have to trust he’s telling the truth. “What brings you to the Nexus?”

Jaal considers his replies — should he speak in generalities? Does Scott envy his sister’s freedom and position, while his recovery keeps him on the Nexus? Or would Scott be insulted by such an attempt? Is he _ever_ going to know this man, his love’s closest blood? — and decides on simple honesty. “Pathfinder business. Tann wanted a full debriefing on Gemma’s negotiations with Nakmor Morda.”

Scott’s mouth twists, and his brows draw low. For the first time, Jaal sees the resemblance — not so much in their features, but in what lies beneath. The Ryders’ bones are strong, and their tempers stronger. “And Tann couldn’t do that over vidcon?” He shakes his head, his disgust clear as the sunlight. “No, he’d get his pound of flesh in person. God, I hate politicians. How Gemma deals with that sack of — sorry, ranting.”

Jaal’s far from offended. Here, at last, is his way in. “Rant away,” he says, spreading his hands wide. “I’d rather be trapped on Kadara than deal with politicians.”

Scott huffs, a noise Jaal recognizes a moment later as a laugh. “Strong words. Gems told me about the fight you two had over that planet. Makes me glad I was still in a coma.”

“I’m pleased to say that was our _only_ fight,” Jaal says, eager to offer any reassurance on that subject. “And it was resolved to both our —”

“Nope.” Scott holds up both hands, and takes a wary step back. “Not hearing this. I know sharing’s kind of your best thing, but I _really_ don’t need to know all the details.”

“Of course.” Any angara would have been delighted with that knowledge — and no angara would have considered mentioning physical reconciliation _all the details —_ but this is the longest conversation Jaal has managed with Scott, and he’d like to keep it going as long as possible. “My apologies.”

“None needed. Just…please don’t break it down for me.”

They face each other, the lover and the brother, and stare into the conversational abyss together. Jaal wonders who will break the silence first, and is completely unsurprised when his own mouth opens.

“She calls you… _Scoot_ , sometimes.”

Scott sighs, a lifetime of exasperation in the sound. Jaal is halfway through an apology before Scott interrupts him.

“My sister,” he says, a smile, tiny but undeniably _present_ , breaking through, “thinks she’s a goddamn comedian. She started calling me that when we were twelve, and even though she’s the only person _ever_ who found it funny, that hasn’t stopped her. But I bet you know that,” he adds, turning his smile in Jaal’s direction. “Gems never met a joke she didn’t totally beat to death.”

_Where does a mansplainer get his water, Cora?_

_Ryder, please, we’ve been in the Nomad for twelve hours —_

_From a well, actually!_

“No,” Jaal says, grinning at the memory: Cora’s weary groan and Gemma’s delighted cackle. “She never did.”

“At least _Scoot_ ’s better than the nickname before that.” Scott leans back against the barrier, swinging his datapad in his fingers. “My first name’s Geoffrey, so that obviously led her to _Gee-off,_ and it was either strangling her or switching to Scott.”

“But then along came _Scoot_.”

“You got it.” Scott tilts his head up to the light. “I mean, she wasn’t the only grade-a little shit running around. I called her _Germs_ for years.”

Jaal laughs, but part of him aches. This is all he’ll ever know of Gemma’s life before she came to Andromeda: the contents of a footlocker and the memories she and her brother share. No family home to visit, no cousins and aunts and uncles to meet — just a brother, and a mother still locked in frozen sleep, perhaps forever.

All the more reason to treasure this time with Scott.

“But I grew out of being a grade-a little shit, while Gemma just doubled on down. And that’s why she’s _Gems_ , and I’m still _Scoot._ ” He shrugs, face going neutral again. “Anyways, you looked like you were heading somewhere. Don’t let me keep you.”

“I have time.” Jaal leans on the barrier himself, the light reflected off the _Tempest_ shining at the corner of his eyes. “I’d like to talk more.”

Scott gives him an unreadable look, eyes flat, then something loosens in him, and he gives Jaal another small smile. “Sounds good.” A beat, and then: “Did she and Drack really get into a bar fight on Kadara?”

Jaal groans and puts his head in his hands — but he’s laughing, and halfway through the story, so is Scott.

They’re still talking when Gemma arrives, a little drawn about the eyes and mouth, but all her stress disappears when she sees them, and Scott hugs Jaal when they say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://theherocomplex.tumblr.com)! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scott Ryder can’t find solid ground, and lashes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a longer WIP, but I like these scenes as a discrete piece.
> 
> Warnings for anxiety/panic attacks; spoilers abound; background Gemma Ryder/Jaal, incipient Scott/Liam.

One of the few thousand rumors going through Initiative R&D was that whatever you ate first when you got out of cryo would be the most delicious thing you ever tasted.

“Better than leftover pizza when you’re hungover, better than sex in zero-g,” Robbie Jones said, giving Scott one of his trademark eyebrow waggles. “And when I say it’s better than sex, you _know_ I’m not fucking around. Ha, get it? Fucking aro—”

Scott had kissed him, just to shut him up — always the best course of action with Robbie — but he told Gemma about it later, when the two of them were hunkered down over beers on the Citadel.

“Better than sex?” She snorted, and waved at the bartender for another round. “Not likely. And you know they’re just gonna hand us some high-protein rations, right? The kind that’ll make whatever you got in ICT look like fresh chocolate chip cookies. The most we can hope for is six-hundred-year-old coffee, if that survives in suspension.”

“And Mom called  _you_ the optimist.” Scott accepted his fresh beer, but didn’t drink. “We’ve got three weeks left. How’re you holding up?”

Gemma shrugged, nodding her head in time to the music. “I’m not sure it’s sunk in yet. I mean, yeah, I know we’re going, but it doesn’t feel real.”

“I hear that.” He slid his beer to hers, the tap of glass on glass too quiet to be heard over the music, and took a sip. In seven hours, they’d be on their way back to the ark docks, prepping for the last stages before departure — but even though he could imagine getting on the shuttle, and watching the Citadel fade to a pinprick as they headed for the relay, everything past that was a blur.

_You’re leaving the galaxy_ , he told himself, for the thousandth time. _You’ll never see any of this again. When you wake up, everyone in this room except for you and your sister will be dead._

“Oh, no,” said Gemma. Scott looked up and found her watching him, eyes wide. “You’ve got your existential crisis face on. What is it this time? ‘Everyone around me will be dead before I wake up,’ or 'I’m never going to drink real beer again’?”

“You’re a shithead.” Scott let his forehead rest on the bar counter. “And it was the former, but now you’ve got me obsessing about the beer, thanks.”

“Hey, I know you like to be thorough.” Gemma squeezed his shoulder. “Scott, seriously. You okay? I thought coming back to the Citadel would be a good thing, you know, like one last hurrah? But if you’re freaking out, we can just go back to the hotel, get some takeout —”

“I’m fine,” he said, sitting up so fast his vision swam. Maybe those last four beers had been a mistake. His heartbeat pulsed in his throat, and his hands shook. Fuck, not again, not now. “I’m sorry, I’m totally killing your good time. We can, we can go do stuff —”

Gemma’s barrier flared around them in a cool blue ring. The music faded to a distant thudding drumbeat for fifteen seconds — long enough for the bartender to stomp over, mandibles tight and finger jabbing in Gemma’s direction — but fifteen seconds gave Scott time to breathe past the anxiety swamping his gut, and to break the chant in his head: _It’s all going to be gone, you can never come home. It’s all going to be gone, you can never come home._

“You don’t bring that biotic shit in here!” the bartender yelled as the music swelled again. “I got enough trouble with the krogan, we don’t need you lighting up the place!”

“So sorry.” Gemma didn’t even turn in his direction as she typed something into her omnitool. “Just got a little carried away. That cover my tab?”

The bartender waved her away. “Whatever. Buddy, get your friend out of here before she busts up my bar.”

“You got it,” Scott said, draining his beer and then grabbing Gemma’s arm with an unsteady hand. “C'mon, sis, time to call it a night.”

“Aww,” Gemma whined, real enough to fool everyone by Scott, and let him drag her out of the bar and back onto the Presidium.

The anxiety stuck to him like sap, but a few lungfuls of cool, recycled air sent the worst of it back. Gemma’s whining cut off as soon as the door shut behind them. She bounced along at his side, hands in her pockets and her eyes turned toward the Council tower.

“Thanks,” said Scott. “You didn’t have to do that, Gems.”

“Eh, that bar was pretty lame anyways. You want something to eat?”

The answer to that was _no_ , but since Gemma was always hungry, he nodded and let her drag him along to the transit line toward Zakera Ward. He hoped the walk would clear his head, or at least settle his gut, but when they climbed on the shuttle, he still felt as over-warm and shaky as he had in the bar.

Gemma dropped into a seat, legs stretched out halfway across the shuttle floor, and yawned. Scott felt a totally unwelcome rush of envy — nothing fazed her, not fifteen hours in a hardsuit, getting kicked out of a bar, or her twin brother warming up to a panic attack in public.

Sometimes, he almost couldn’t stand her.

“There’s a new bakery somewhere in here,” she said, glaring at the map on her omnitool. “Some mother-daughter thing, supposed to have the best brownies on the Citadel —”

“How are you okay with this?” he burst out, then looked around guiltily. The shuttle was empty, but three years of keeping his mouth shut about the Initiative were hard to break. “You’re just — you’re _fine_ with this, this _goodbye_ tour, and we’re never gonna see _anything_ again. No more dig sites, no more bakeries, no more calling Nesua when you’re drunk and lonely —”

Gemma’s face went from sympathetic to ice-cold in a heartbeat. Scott’s gut knotted into a cold tangle as she turned away, her jaw set and her chin high.

“Oh, shit,” he said. “Gems, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“Bullshit,” said Gemma. “How long have you been waiting to throw that in my face?”

“I didn’t —”

“You meant it,” she snapped, each word like the prick of a needle. “I guess I should just be glad you didn’t wait six hundred fucking years to say it. So thanks for shitting all over me and my ex in the Milky Way.” She stood up, jerkily, and stalked to the other side of the shuttle. The shuttle wasn’t that large, so what Gemma’s grand exit lasted about five feet, but the solid line of her back was just as implacable as a wall.

“It’s just…” Scott swallowed, picked at the seam of his trousers. “You’re fine. You’re always fine. How do you do it?”

“We’ve got three weeks left,” Gemma said, without turning around. “I’ve got to be fine with it. We’re pretty locked in.”

“I know, I know, but what if we’re wrong? What if this is some…colossal fuck-up?” Every word choked him. His hands were still shaking, and as much as he tried to focus on the hum of the shuttle running over the rails, or the fading purple streak in Gemma’s hair, nothing helped. The spiral wouldn’t let him go.

“You really think it’s going to be that bad?” Gemma turned around, a sad little half-smile on her face. “It’ll be rough, yeah, but we know that going in, and Dad never met a challenge he didn’t blast his way through. We’ll be fine.”

“Pollyanna.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” She turned back to the window. “Someone’s got to be. And weren’t you the one who pulled me into this?”

Scott sighed. “Yeah, guilty as charged. But you know, I just did it to get a lab rat. Human testing can be such a pain, and you’re easy to bribe.”

Gemma’s shoulders shook a little with laughter. “Show me some cute cat pictures and peanut butter, and then say _Hey want to test out this new biotic amp in zero-g_ , right?”

“Right.” He stood up, ignoring the shaking in his hands and the voices whispering in his head, and kicked Gemma lightly in the calf. “I _am_ sorry, Gems. That was a shitty thing to say.”

“It sure as hell was.” She ran her hands through her hair. “It’s just…we don’t have many people to say goodbye to, do we?”

No, they really didn’t. Scott sent a mental _thanks for fucking nothing_ in Dad’s direction, then felt a pang in his chest: he still had Robbie, for whatever that was worth, and the rest of his lab group, but Gemma had him, and Dad, and the Pathfinder team — and none of them were quite friends.

Something else to thank Dad for.

“And just to make things clear,” said Gemma. “I don’t call Nesua to cry and beg for a booty call. I call her because I’m going to miss her. She’s still my friend, and…” She exhaled slowly, her breath fogging the glass. “You know what? I just realized, she might still be alive when we get there. That's…that’s pretty weird.”

A few seconds of silence ticked by, then Gemma shuddered, full-body, and let her head fall between her shoulders.

“Shit,” she said, so quietly Scott almost missed it, and started to cry.

He didn’t remember a time when he didn’t envy Gemma: people liked her, she always knew what to say, god, she could even hold her breath for five minutes — but the envy he felt as he watched her reflection cry was the worst of all, a rank poison in his heart. In thirty minutes or an hour, she’d be _fine_ , at least outwardly, all those tears just a pressure valve. But him? The spiral was always waiting, ready to catch him if he wasn’t paying attention.

But envy didn’t mean he stopped loving her, or wanting to help her, so he threw an arm around her shoulders and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

Andromeda would be their family’s new start. They just had to mourn the Milky Way first.

“I know,” he said, when Gemma kept crying. “I know, Gems.” There was nothing else to say, so he just closed his eyes and held on. Mom might have known something better, something that would actually help — but Mom was gone, and Dad wouldn’t have helped even if he hadn’t been light years away. For better or worse, he was all Gemma had.

“Sorry,” he murmured, and gave her shoulders a squeeze.

Ten minutes later, their shuttle stopped. Gemma took a deep breath, wiped the last tears from her cheeks, and turned to Scott. No smile, just calm acceptance. It looked, to Scott, a little like grief.

Fair enough.

“You want to find that bakery?” he asked.

***

Dad waved Gemma toward her pod. “Ladies first,” he said, and gave her a quick hug as she passed by. She paused before she swung inside, and grinned up at Scott. He’d have laid good money on being the only person to see how unsteady that smile was.

“Be cunning,” she said, “and full of tricks, and your people will never be destroyed.”

Scott laughed in spite of his stomach’s sick rolling, and bent down for one last hug. “See you soon,” he whispered in her ear, holding on a little tighter than he had to. “Don’t do anything dumb without me.”

“Sleep well,” she whispered back.

He watched the pod close over her — she smiled at him till the seal hissed shut, and the pod’s window went opaque — and then let out a long, hard breath.

“Your turn, son,” said his father, and clapped him on the shoulder. Scott barely felt it.

***

Vortex isn’t much of a bar, and their beer is absolute shit, but they have real whiskey and he has credits to burn, so Scott decides an excellent use of his evening is getting absolutely shit-faced on what might have been the last bottle of Lagavulin single-malt in Andromeda. The first three shots burn going down, but then the warmth spreads to the rest of him, and he starts to lose count of the shot glasses lining up in front of him.

Not that it matters; he’s got sobriety meds in his back pocket, so as long as he’s got some motor skills left at the end of the bottle, he’ll make it home just fine. He’s going to enjoy his sulk in peace and quiet —

“Oy, Ryder!”

_Fuck me_ , he thinks. He knows that voice, and he’s not going to turn around, he’s not. He’s _not_.

Then a hand falls on his shoulder, too warm and too heavy, and turns him around anyways.

“Thought I saw you.” Liam Kosta grins as he drops into the stool next to Scott’s. “Didn’t know you knew about Vortex yet.”

“Everyone knows about Vortex,” says Scott, turning back to his bottle. He can’t handle small talk at the best of times, and if Liam’s got half a brain, he’ll take one look at the shot glasses and understand that Scott’s not in a social mood.

At least Gemma got around to telling the love of her life not to push it if he didn’t feel like talking. Too bad she didn’t tell the rest of her crew the same thing.

_When am I ever?_ he thinks, and starts to pour himself another shot. The bartenders stopped giving him hairy looks when they realized he’d be a sad drunk, not a violent one, and everyone else in the bar’s left him alone. Why can’t Liam get the hint?

“Yeah, but you’re —” Liam waves his hands in dizzy circles, then shrugs. “New. Just up and at 'em. Didn’t think bars would be high on your list.”

Now it’s Scott’s turn to shrug. “Priorities change.” The whiskey burns again going down, so he shoves his glass aside and tries to catch the bartender’s eye. Maybe they’ll let him drink this back in his — no, _his dad’s_ quarters. He did pay for it, after all.

“Your sister was heading to the cryo bay,” says Liam, no hint of accusation in his voice. “Said she sent you a message. Seemed pretty excited to catch up. Want me to ping her, let her know you’re here?”

“No thanks.” Scott gives up on the bartender, and stands up. Maybe Liam’s a whiskey fan. “I’ll see you around, Liam.”

“You okay, man?”

He meets Liam’s eyes for the first time, and feels the all-too-familiar plummet in his gut. Liam’s totally relaxed, elbows braced on the bar, everything in his posture open and friendly, even _welcoming_ , and goddamn he’s _hot_ , too. This is not what Scott needs, a hot guy who works with his sister, the _Pathfinder_ , going all concerned and caring over him when he’s in the middle of his first Andromeda bender. He’s tired and drunk and pissed off at Gemma for absolutely no reason, because being pissed off at her is easier than dealing with everything else that’s happened since they peeled him out of his pod.

He’s so tired, and so drunk, that when he opens his mouth to tell Liam that he’s fine, and to have a good night, the truth comes out instead.

“Not really,” he says, throwing his arms wide. There’s the old spiral, building in the back of his head, turning the last of his mellow warmth into a sour, sticky taste in the back of his throat and sweaty palms. “I woke up, and my dad’s dead. But everyone got over that months ago, and they’ve got a new Pathfinder, and it’s my _sister_ , and I missed a whole year of her life. She died out there — twice! — and I was in a coma. I couldn’t help.”

“Whoa,” says Liam, reaching out, concern hardening into something else, something Scott can’t quite make out. “Grab a seat, you’re good, you’re good —”

“She — she’s had this whole _life_ , saving the galaxy, and I’m the world’s biggest asshole for being pissed about it, but all I keep thinking is that she left me behind. She fell in love, and the guy I was dating before we went into cryo’s _married_ and on Prodromos.” Scott rubs his face, aware of how hard he’s breathing, and reaches — better late than never — for the sobriety meds in his pocket. “I got left behind,” he says. “It’s no one’s fault, but I can’t stop being pissed.”

“Seems pretty fair to me,” says Liam, who hasn’t broken eye contact since Scott started talking.

“And the worst part is, everyone’s been so damn nice about it I can’t even _be_ pissed without feeling even shittier.” Scott dry-swallows the pills. “I talked to Jaal the other day, and the guy tried so hard to be friends — and I like him, I do, but it’s just one more thing for me to process.”

Liam grins, and Scott grins back, a little reluctantly. “Just wait till he starts with the presents,” Liam says. “Don’t even know the half of it.”

Presents? Jesus Christ. “That’s the thing,” Scott says, dropping back onto his stool. The meds always make him have to piss like crazy, but he’s got a few minutes till that kicks in. “He wants me to be part of the family, and Cora’s talking like I’m going to join up with all of you as soon as I get clearance, and then there’s Jaal, who’s practically decorating my bunk for me — but you’ve all had a year to get ready for this. I’ve had three weeks. I’m still pissed. I can’t be a part of your crew, but I want to be, and…”

His words run out, and he leans against the bar. The spiral pulses to the music pouring out of the speaker overhead, the old tremble building in his hands. But there’s no Gemma around to flare her barrier or to talk him through breathing, he’s on his own this time, and he’s slipping —

Liam calls something to the bartenders that Scott doesn’t make out, and then the music overhead goes quiet. Someone yells in dismay across the bar, and the bartender yells back. Scott catches his breath, and slowly unclenches his hands.

“You’re good,” Liam says, voice too low to carry past Scott’s ears. “No one’s looking. Just gonna sit here with you for a minute, right?”

Scott nods, the fading panic leaving him shaky in his skin and cold, but the gratitude rising in his chest is far more powerful.

_He’s a good guy,_ Gemma had said. _Liam’s solid._

He never doubted her, but it’s like finding steady ground after treading water for hours.

“Sorry,” Scott mutters, when he’s ready to talk again. “You didn’t need my shit.”

“It’s not shit.” Liam nudges him. “Better out than in, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what Gems says.” Scott nudges his shot glasses out of the way, and props his head on the counter. It feels familiar, in a way he can’t quite place. “I don’t know what I feel,” he adds. “Not really. Figured I’d find it at the bottom of this bottle, that old drill.”

“Sorry I interrupted, then. Could let you get back to it, if you want.”

“Moment’s gone,” he says, lifting up his head to give Liam a grateful smile. “Sorry again for the word vomit, but…thanks, Liam.”

“No problem. Anything for a friend.” Liam claps him on the shoulder, then waves at the bartender. “Come on. Close out your tab. Need to get some food in you. We got some kind of snack thing upstairs.”

“Sounds great,” Scott says, then brings up his omnitool. “One sec. Let me just tell Gemma to meet us there.”


End file.
